


So, I Was Possessed

by Againfromthegarbagecan



Category: Angel - Fandom, Fantasy - Fandom, Tumblr - Fandom, againfromthegarbagecan, possession - Fandom, write it motherfuckers
Genre: Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-10
Updated: 2019-03-23
Packaged: 2019-11-14 19:42:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18058814
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Againfromthegarbagecan/pseuds/Againfromthegarbagecan
Summary: Orphan Alythia "Dakota" Purser lives a relatively normal life, minus the people dressed in black who have followed her since she was little. After a dreaded run in with the lot of them, she realizes that she may not be as normal as she appears. With the help from Barachiel, an angel who has known her for her whole life, she begins to slowly find out just what exactly she is. While running from the government, of course.





	1. My Recruitement for the Men in Black:

They had followed me again, but they weren’t doing anything. They were just there. It was annoying and a tad bit disconcerting. 

Georgia and Dean never noticed them; ever since we were kids, they never did. The men in black were good at hiding. 

Georgia holds her coffee to her mouth and blows harshly, foam pieces flying around the tables—little, fluffy missiles. 

Dean yells and raises their hands in protest. They push against her arm, saying, “What the fuck, G?! Why do you always do that?”

I smile over my tea, casting a glance at “Glasses”, the stalker that had set up camp in a two-seat table a few down from us. He gazed back over the top of his copy of Chicken Noodle Soup for the Soul. The pages had been tabbed and dog-eared several times. 

I return my attention to my friends, who have somehow sparked a debate about possession and ghosts. They always managed to start some macabre topic or other, or they were fighting because, despite being best friends for seven years, they still managed to rub the other the wrong way. 

I cock an eyebrow as I take a drink of my tea. 

“—but what would be the long-lasting effects of being possessed? Like, would you be permanently changed?” Georgia was saying. 

Dean turns their mug a few times with their fingers, thinking. 

“What do you think, Dakota?” Georgia asks me while she waits for Dean. 

I give her a doe-eyed look, startled from the sudden spotlight. 

“Uh…” I drawl, trying to grasp whatever synapse is firing madly in between my ears. There was a feeling in the pit of my stomach that was weighing on my head, drawing my complete focus. It felt hesitant, which is crazy, because it was probably because I needed to pee.  
“Earth to Dakota? Are you there?” Georgia coos along to the rhythm of her hand that’s waving at me from across the table. 

I blink, bringing my attention back to my friends. 

“I’m okay.” I sound less okay and more oh. 

Dean saves me from speaking anymore: “If someone with some sort of illness or disability was possessed, would they be cured or still be afflicted after whatever is inside them is gone?” 

Georgia sits back in her seat to think, but I can’t think past the sudden bout of nausea stemming from the heavy weight in my stomach. It felt as if it were filled with regret, like that was a thing that was even possible. 

I shift in my seat and grimace. 

“I think that depends on is the possessor is good or bad,” I grumble out, trying to get past the ghostly urge to throw-up. 

Georgia nods, “That makes sense, but what happens if the good thing turns bad? What do you do then?” 

I was going to throw-up. 

I jerk out of my seat, one hand holding my stomach while the other covered my mouth, and lurch away from our table. 

I hastily throw cash at my tea and make my way to the exit. 

I make my way outside, nodding to the hostess who wishes me a good day with a concerned look. 

Let’s hope you’re right, I think to myself as I stumble onto the sidewalk. 

A last look over my shoulder shows Glasses is paying for his tab. 

There is a man outside, like his partner, leaning against a light post across the street. I turn and make my way up the block to my apartment. Light Post Guy pushes away and begins to make his way in the opposite direction. Some tension ekes out of my body in waves. 

With a sigh, I fast-walk the rest of the way. 

Down the street ahead of me, a car starts.

I book it up the stairs to my apartment building, practically running, my bout of nausea all but forgotten. 

I throw the deadbolt on my door so hard that it should have broken, but it only did what it was supposed to do. 

I count down from six until my heartbeat slows. 

The sofa. Push it in front of the door, came a voice that was not mine. 

I glance around my living room, suddenly paranoid that I’m not alone. The only company I had was the small plant on my coffee table and the banner above my sofa that read Fuck bitches, Get money. 

The sofa, please. They’re coming. 

The voice is coming from me, from my head, like my consciousness became outwardly sentient. 

The voice said it again, this time with urgency. I obeyed. 

With my sofa newly moved, an uneasy feeling setting behind my ribs at the same moment my back began to burn. 

“Shit,” I hiss as I rush to my bathroom. Raising my shirt to my shoulders, I turn and look at my back in the mirror. The two scars I’ve bore between my shoulder blades since I was young stared back at me. They were jagged and marbled with age. I shifted and they lanced pain down my spine. With a grimace, I pull my shirt on again. 

I’m putting my arms back through the sleeves when loud knocking sounds from the living room. 

They are here. 

The burning in my back intensifies, but I do my best to ignore it. 

I’ve made it to the living room when the banging stops. My apartment is suddenly eerily quiet. 

“What am I doing?” I whisper to myself. 

The voice pipes up. 

You are protecting yourself, it replies. Those people are coming to take you away, and I cannot let that happen. I must uphold my end of your parents’ Deal.

“WHAT?! What deal? What about my parents? They died when I was younger…” I blink and shake my head.

“What are you?”

The voice sighs, I am your Guardian, and your parents gave up their lives to save yours. Now, please…focus. They are here.

My heart begins to jackhammer in my chest, but whatever the voice was attached to leveled it out immediately. 

“A Guardian? What does that even mean? What do my parents have to do with any of this? Are you inside me?!” I harshly whisper. 

The voice does not respond. Whatever is inside me is waiting—tension returns to my limbs. 

They are here. 

Oh, god. I’m going to die.

You will not die if you allow me to protect you. Will you allow it?

I don’t say anything for several moments, because the room is filled with banging again. My heart stutters and I’m frozen to the spot in my living room. I can just barely feel the anxiety starting to rise in them, from my lack of answer. 

A lot of things happen at once: 1) the banging stops, 2) a sliver of misplaced relief cuts into my spine, directly underneath the burning throb between my shoulders, and 3) the room with filled smoke. 

Whoever was on the other side had just blown my door in. 

A piece of my sofa lands inches from me and I scream, rushing in to the next room while the smoke was thick. 

Other way!

Without giving it a second thought, I turn on a dime and hi-tail it in the opposite direction, the smoke parting around me. 

I throw myself hastily into my small wardrobe on the other side of my bedroom. 

I can hear people moving around in my apartment and then something breaks. 

“Hey,” one of the guys says, “I like this.” More footsteps and then my books are being dropped onto the floor, the sound of thudding literature echoing loudly in my head. The burning in my back was echoing with impact. 

A woman speaks: “No, Mark. You can’t have it.”

Noises of disapproval, like a chastised six-year-old. 

The woman: “We’re here for the girl, not her decorations.” 

The man: *continued whining*

I allow myself a snicker. 

“Search everything,” comes another voice. This one was cold and authoritative. 

The burning in my back triples and a gasp escapes my lips. 

Footsteps. Someone is in my room!

The door to my hiding spot opens and I spill out onto my knees, gritting my teeth in pain. 

“Found her,” the guy standing over me grins. 

Whatever was inside me gave me a last burst of energy. I lurch up to my feet and bolt out of my room. Whoever was behind me did not give chase, and I soon found out why. 

My living room was full of them, all types of men and woman dressed in black. 4

“Who are you? What do you want?” I ask lamely. 

Glasses is closest to me; he just pushes his glasses farther up his nose and clears his throat, “You are to come with us.” 

Something about how he said that pushed me over the edge and suddenly I was glaring at each of them in turn. 

“Okay,” I growl, “this is what’s going to happen, you boy-band, Men in Black-looking motherfuckers. You’re going to tell me why you’re really here or you can leave. I recommend you start singing or you can toodly-too and fucking scadoo and get the fuck out of my apartment.” 

Silence. 

Glasses looks startled that I had such bite. 

The thing inside me was warm with appreciation. 

I almost smile. 

Instead of attempting to bask in how clever I am, I fall to my knees, my body seizing up from the sudden pain I was in. It is everything but blinding. 

The ringing in my ears is so loud that I can barely hear them speak as they swarm me, two of the men holding me down as a woman cuts open the back of my shirt. 

“They’re here; the scars,” the woman says in relief as colors wink before my eyes. 

“She doesn’t know what she is yet,” the man holding me by my shoulders says. It’s Mark, the whiny one. 

They mutter amongst themselves and the voice speaks again. 

You only had to say the word and I would have protected you. I cannot do anything without your consent, you stubborn girl.

I let out a sigh and am out like a light.


	2. Reason #4872023974 On Why I Won’t Be a Nurse:

When I come to, I’m lying on my stomach.

I’m wearing nothing but a cloth across my backside and the burning in my back has become such a distant hum that I don’t even register that it is coming from me. 

My wrists and ankles are shackled to the table legs. 

I blink the grogginess from my eyes. 

“What?” I croak. The table I am lying on is cold against my cheek. 

Do not speak.

I relax as smidge, the now familiar voice echoing in the back of my head. 

“Oh goody, you’re finally awake,” drawled a voice behind me, but I was too out of it to turn my head. Feeling was slowly returning to my fingers and toes, but just barely. 

“That’s good,” they continued. “Real good. Now we can finally get some answers.” 

The person comes around the table and I can finally see who’s speaking. It’s a small woman wearing a headwrap, her coat speckled with a handful of novelty pins. 

I smile to the best of my ability as she pulls a small notepad and pen from her pocket. 

“How do you feel?”

Do not speak.

I groan. 

She writes something down. “Do you know who you are?”

Again, I groan, but this time I’m barely able to say my name, but just barely. 

She scribbles again. 

“What day is it?”

I blink lazily up at her. The woman makes another note. 

“Has the voice told you its name yet?”

I blink, more aware. 

“Voice?”

Do not speak.

I stare at the woman’s belt loops—which are at perfect eye level. 

“What is your name?” I whisper to myself, to the voice inside me. 

I told you not to speak, you stubborn girl. My name is Barachial. Forgive me for not introducing myself earlier. There wasn’t any time.

“Why are you inside me?” my voice now choked with fear, my eyes welling up as I realize just exactly what I’m in. 

Your parents summoned me to save their ill child. You were born sick, which meant if you were allowed to live as you were, you would have died very early. 

I blink and a tear rolls over the bridge of my nose to drop to the table. 

I’m sorry you have to learn this now, but your parents gave up their lives to save yours. That is the price for summoning an angel like me. Equivalent exchange, as you humans call it. A life for a life, and two mortal lives for one divine life is very, very merciful. 

I take a very shaky breath. “Okay, but why me?”

The woman writes a final note and pockets it. 

She claps her hands together, “Alright, if you do not already know, you are inside a government facility. Designed to handle and assess people like you.” 

I look up at her, adjusting my head against the table. 

“What am I?” I question. 

She blinks down at me, her expression something between exasperation and admiration. 

“You are a Seraph, a human chosen and possessed by a divine creature. Somehow, in your case, you were possessed by an Archangel, very rare indeed.” She seemed extremely of her knowledge of exactly what I was. 

“So, I’m like a carrier? Like someone with a parasite?”

She begins to laugh at the same time the angel inside of me loses his shit. 

A PARASITE?! How dare you compare me to such a terrible thing?!

I roll my eyes. 

The woman picks at her headwrap, watching me. 

“In a way, yes. You haven’t seemed to allow wings to fully develop, hence the scarring, but I doubt that has anything to do with you and more to do with how well they wished to stay hidden among humans.”

My attention returns to my back, right between my shoulder blades…

“Am I supposed to have wings?”

Yes, but for your safety, I have hidden them.

“Doesn’t that hurt you?”

The angel in me is surprised, almost warmed by my concern for their wings. I could feel their smile. 

It is nothing I have not grown used to.

“I wish I could help you.”

All in due time, if you so wish. 

The woman clears her throat and shuffles around me to where I can’t see her. 

With a finger, she prods at my back and I hiss through my teeth. “It is so fascinating to be able to study a specimen like you. Most of the time, they’re already dead.”

My blood turns cold and my muscles freeze. I’m staring at the far wall as this woman mutters her plans to dissect me. 

 

+++++++++++++++++++++

 

“Do my friends know where I am?” I ask her as she begins to make loads of noise behind me. 

She giggles, “We have planted a note, letting each of them know that in a fit of rage, you destroyed your apartment and disappeared. They have no way of getting ahold of you, so don’t ask.” 

Something metal rolled closer to me. 

I tense my muscles, trying to futilely work my wrists from their restraints. 

I was rewarded nothing but bruises. 

“Struggling won’t help you, Alythia…obviously,” the woman coos as she thumps her fingers against the table, directly next to my hip. 

I swallow, croaking “What are you doing?”

Please let me protect you.

My eyes mist and I swallow again, hard. 

“Why are you doing this?” I ask her, but she only hums in response as she drags an alcohol swab over my arm. 

Please give me the word. I want to protect you. I cannot help until you give me your permission. 

I can feel Barachial’s fear. 

“Please help me, Barachial. I do not want to die.” My voice is quiet and shaky with tears. 

The angel gives a sigh of relief. 

You will not die. I promise to protect you. You have my word.

I sigh, whispering “Thank you.”

“What?” The doctor leans over me, scooting her chair closer. She brushes the hair from my back, exposing my scars. “What did you say? Has the voice said anything? Has the voice told you its name?” 

I say nothing. 

Do not say a word. She is going to cut along the scars on your back. I will use that opportunity to extend my wings. It will hurt, but that is the only way I can get you out of here.

I relax on the table, marginally. 

“What about my clothes?” I mutter, forgetting my vow of silence. 

“You will be given scrubs to wear but only after I finish inspecting you.” 

The doctor places her hand on my right shoulder, leaning her full weight into me, her other hand poised with a surgical knife. 

The first cut was terrible. 

It wasn’t just my pain, but Barachial’s: the pain he endured for years, hiding his wings, having to break them to fit into such a small body when I was a child. 

I was screaming, crying for her to stop, the table shaking along with my body. 

My wrists and ankles strained against their binds, but she just pressed harder against my shoulder, immobilizing me. 

Barachial was yelling to me over my cries. 

I am so sorry. 

I do not wish you to bear this pain. 

I cannot help until she makes the second cut. 

The first is over now. Just one more. I promise the pain will be over soon. 

I am so, so sorry. 

I just kept crying, snot and tears dripping down my face as I continued to beg. 

When she finally lifts the knife away from my skin, I take the first breath in what feels like a while. 

I could feel the angels regret for what had happened and what was to come. 

It will be over soon. 

Then he unfurled his wings and my world went white.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading. It truly means a lot.  
> You can find me on my Tumblr @againfromthegarbagecan for more behind the scenes and if you have any questions.


End file.
